A King's Ransom (21 page)

He was still brooding over his encounter with Leopold’s sons when Hadmar made an unexpected appearance. “I thought you should know that Duke Leopold arrived late this afternoon. He said that he will be speaking with you on the morrow.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Richard said, and then, as the other man turned to go, he called out impulsively, “Sir Hadmar, wait. Do you blame me for removing your duke’s banner at Acre?”

“Of course I do. By treating our banner with such disdain, you showed disdain for Duke Leopold, for our duchy, and for all Austrians.”

Richard had not expected such an uncompromising response. “I appreciate your candor,” he said, and Hadmar nodded stiffly, then withdrew, leaving Richard to try to reconcile this glimpse of a cold, implacable anger with the respectful treatment he’d so far received in Hadmar’s care. He could only conclude that whilst Hadmar shared his duke’s resentment over the banner, he did not approve of harming a man who’d taken the cross, who’d fought for Christ in the Holy Land.

L
EOPOLD SEEMED IN NO
hurry to speak, standing in the middle of the chamber, arms akimbo as his gaze moved from Richard to the guards to the furnishings of the bedchamber. “I see that Sir Hadmar has provided you with lodgings befitting your rank,” he said at last.

Richard regarded him challengingly. “Is that likely to change?”

“No.” Leopold fell silent again and then raised his head, squaring his shoulders. “In Vienna, your chamber was not . . . suitable for one of high birth. Whatever you have done, you are a king, God’s anointed. I was justly angered, but even so . . .” It was obvious he did not find it easy to admit this. His arms were now folded across his chest and his mouth tautly drawn, but he met Richard’s eyes unflinchingly as he spoke.

The last thing Richard had been expecting was an almost-apology. It was a telling moment, though, revealing that the Austrian duke believed himself to be a man of honor, bound by a code of ethics that compelled him to acknowledge his mistakes, however distasteful he found that admission. “And what of my men?”

“They have been moved to more comfortable quarters. And a doctor has tended to the boy’s injuries.”

Richard would have choked before he’d say “Thank you.” He settled for, “I am gladdened to hear that.”

Leopold shifted position, glancing toward a coffer as if he meant to sit, then changed his mind. “My wife, the Duchess Helena, has accompanied me to Dürnstein, as have my sons, my brother, my nephew, and several clerics, including my cousin, the Archbishop of Salzburg, and the Bishop of Gurk. Sir Hadmar has planned a feast for this afternoon in honor of our arrival.”

Richard did not understand why Leopold was telling him this, so he said nothing, watching as Leopold began to move restlessly about the chamber, picking up and discarding items at random. “Several of them have expressed a desire to meet you,” the duke said, after yet another prolonged silence.

Richard stared at him, incredulous. “You are asking me to dine with you?”

A slight flush had begun to warm Leopold’s face and throat. “No, that would be . . . awkward.”

“I daresay it would. Since you have men guarding me with drawn swords day and night, I rather doubt I’d be trusted with a knife. Though I suppose you could assign a servant to cut my meat?”

Leopold ignored the sarcasm and continued doggedly on. “After the meal, my chief minstrel, Reinmar von Hagenau, will entertain us. I thought you might join us then.” He paused, swinging back to face Richard. “I realize I cannot compel you, that the choice is yours. If you do accept the invitation, I would hope that we could agree to be . . .” He paused again, searching for the right word.

“Civil?” Richard suggested helpfully, his eyes gleaming. “By that, I assume you’d prefer that we avoid controversial topics like Cyprus, the Holy Land, and Hell.”

Leopold was looking grim by now. “Clearly this was a mistake,” he said, and started toward the door.

“I accept,” Richard said, stopping the duke in his tracks.

“You do?” He sounded more suspicious than pleased, and Richard had to bite back a smile.

“Well, I happen to be free this afternoon. . . .”

Leopold studied the other man intently. “Very well, then. Sir Hadmar will escort you to the great hall after Sext has rung.”

“I am looking forward to it more than I can say,” Richard murmured, delighted to see the sudden unease in his gaoler’s eyes. This was going to be a very tense afternoon for Duke Leopold; at least he hoped so. After the duke departed, Richard startled his guards by laughing aloud. This was a God-given opportunity and he meant to make the most of it. Isolation was a danger. The more contacts he could have with the outside world, the better, especially if those contacts included princes of the Church.

T
HE
D
UCHESS
H
ELENA LOOKED
to be a year or two younger than her husband, who was Richard’s age—thirty-five. The daughter and sister of Hungarian kings, she was the only one besides Leopold who spoke any French, flavored with an appealing Hungarian accent. But language was not an obstacle, for most of the men were able to converse in Latin and a youthful archdeacon was able to translate into German for the women. Eufemia, Hadmar’s wife, was considerably younger than her husband, and their two sons made only a brief appearance, considered too young to join the festivities. Friedrich and Leo were there, though, and when Richard acted as if this was their first meeting, Leo shot a barbed look at his brother and said Saint Friedrich’s guilty conscience had caused him to confess all to their father. Friedrich scowled at Leo and muttered something in German under his breath that did not sound flattering to Richard. Their brotherly spat reminded him of his own squabbles with Geoffrey, for at that age neither had missed any opportunities to harass the other. Yet he sensed that Leo and Friedrich were allies as often as they were rivals, and that had not been true with Geoffrey or Hal. For whatever reasons—which had never interested him in his youth but which he sometimes pondered as an adult—the Angevin House had always taken Cain and Abel as role models.

Leopold’s younger brother Heinrich was introduced to Richard as the Duke of Mödling, a duchy he’d not even heard of, but Leopold’s teenage nephew Ulrich stirred some unpleasant memories of Friesach, for he was the Duke of Carinthia, a region Richard hoped never to have to see again. The other guests included Leopold’s cousin Adalbert, the Archbishop of Salzburg; Dietrich, the Bishop of Gurk; and the Cistercian abbots of Stift Zwettl, which had been founded by Hadmar’s father, and Stift Heiligenkreuz, which had figured in Arne’s desperate cover story. Richard had hoped that Lord Friedrich von Pettau would be part of Leopold’s entourage, for he yearned for information about the men arrested in Friesach, but their gaoler was not among those mingling in Dürnstein’s great hall.

Richard would later look back on that afternoon as a truly bizarre experience, but one he’d enjoyed more than Leopold. The duke kept his distance, leaving it to Hadmar to act as the English king’s host, and Richard could see that Leopold was on edge, not sure how long his unpredictable prisoner would remain on his good behavior. He was indeed tempted, for he knew a public argument about Leopold’s likely descent into Hell would have mortified the duke in front of his family and friends. But that did not serve his interests, and so he set about doing all he could to charm these highborn guests. He gallantly kissed the hands of Helena and Eufemia, paying them the sort of courtly compliments he’d long ago learned in his mother’s Aquitaine. He pleased Archbishop Adalbert by respectfully kissing his ring and, remembering Friedrich’s story, he asked the abbot of Heiligenkreuz’s Holy Cross Abbey to tell him about their sacred fragment of the True Cross. This was not only an inspired topic of conversation with clerics, it put Leopold in a favorable light, and Richard hoped the listeners would take note of his generosity of spirit, praising the man who was his gaoler.

He was not long in realizing why they’d been so eager to meet him. In part, it was natural curiosity, for he was a renowned soldier, one of the most celebrated kings in Christendom. But it was Jerusalem that was the true draw, and he soon found himself answering questions about desert battles in Outremer, the future of the Holy Land, and the man who fascinated much of Europe even if he was an infidel, Salah al-Din.

Leopold’s brother and nephew and the other men present were most interested in the war; although he’d never show it and maintained a dignified silence, Richard was sure that the duke, too, yearned to hear of the march from Acre, of Ibn Ibrak and Jaffa. Had circumstances been different, he and Richard would have been fighting side by side against the Saracens, men doomed to Hell, of course, but worthy foes nonetheless. The clerics wanted to hear of the biblical holy sites and were visibly disappointed when Richard told them that he’d been one of the few not to make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem after the peace treaty was made. But when he explained that he did not feel he’d earned the right, having failed in his vow to retake Jerusalem from Saladin, he could see that they approved his resolve to keep faith with the Almighty, even found it admirable. That had indeed been his reason for denying himself the spiritual joy of seeing the Holy Sepulchre, the rock upon which the body of the Lord Christ had lain, the room where the Last Supper had taken place, all the sacred sites exalted in Scriptures. But he had no scruples about using his refusal to gain himself some goodwill amongst Leopold’s bishops.

His love of music served him well, too, when Reinmar von Hagenau came forward to entertain, for he had some knowledge of the German troubadours called minnesingers, and he was able, therefore, to request one of Reinmar’s songs by name. He graciously yielded to the women’s coaxing and joined Reinmar in performing one of his own songs, although highborn poets in Aquitaine preferred to have their compositions sung by joglars and jongleurs. He even managed to turn the afternoon’s one awkward moment to his advantage. Leo had been noticeably sulking, and taking advantage of a break in the conversation, he’d asked in a loud, carrying voice if it was true that the English king and his brothers were known as the Devil’s brood. Both Leopold and Helena were dismayed by their son’s rudeness, but Richard merely smiled and cheerfully shared his favorite family legend—Melusine, the Demon Countess of Anjou, who’d wed an Angevin count, only to reveal herself to be the Devil’s daughter. He and his brothers had often joked about Melusine, taking a perverse pride in having such a scandalous ancestress. But seeing that some of the guests were shocked and the abbots were making the sign of the cross, he quickly reassured them that such stories were nonsense, of course, tales told by their enemies to discredit the Angevin House.

All in all, he was quite pleased with what he’d accomplished on this Tuesday in late December. Hadmar personally escorted him back to his tower chamber, with the guards much more conspicuous now that they’d left the hall. The Austrian bade Richard a polite good evening, pausing at the door to say, “You’re a clever man.”

Richard did not pretend to misunderstand him. “I’d take that as a compliment if you did not sound so surprised,” he said dryly. “Your duke and I had no time to talk this afternoon. But we will need to talk . . . and soon.”

Hadmar nodded. “You will,” he promised, and for the moment, Richard had to be content with that.